“Are you telling me to leave?”
“No, ma’am. I’m not up for visiting. I have work to do. Places to go.”
“Indeed.” Her chin tilted up so she was looking down her nose at him. “You’re trying to get rid of me.”
“No, ma’am. I appreciate you coming, but I’m really okay. There’s nothing wrong with me.”
“Call me Kelly.” She crossed her arms. “I didn’t say there’s anything wrong with you. I thought you needed a friend, but if you don’t, I have lots to do.”
He couldn’t help narrowing his eyes. If she thought she was doing her good deed of the day, then she should visit someone at the children’s hospital, not a maniacal veteran subject to panic attacks. Besides, this was the worst place he wanted her to see him—sitting on a bed in the psych ward, drugged, and wearing a flimsy gown.
“I appreciate you coming,” Tyler said. “I’m just surprised.”
“Why? Because you think I’m an ice queen?” Her gaze wandered over his torso, and she lifted a finger, almost touching the tail end of the mythical sea serpent tattoo winding around his arm.
His muscles tightened and twitched, the air electrifying between them. The last woman who’d ran her fingers over his ink was his mother from her deathbed. He’d sat at her side, explaining the symbolism and meaning, stories he made up on the spot—an old mariner on a persistent search for phantom love, always behind the next wave, never to be attained.
“I’m thinking you’re anything but icy.” He cleared his throat, but his voice was too husky, thick. “I could use a friend. Thanks.”
The color rose in her cheeks, and she blinked. “I never thanked you for finding Bree, and I was rude to you yesterday, offering you money. Forgive me?”
“There’s nothing to forgive.” Tyler forced his attention to the sugar cookies. Her conciliatory mood brought blood surging through his veins, but he had to maintain control. “Especially when you come bearing Christmas gifts.”
A smile played on her face, brightening her greenish-brown eyes. “We’re having a toy drive at our church this Saturday and need people to wrap the gifts. There’s a meal for all the volunteers and, well, if you’re not doing anything …”
Warmth spread over Tyler’s chest and his heartbeat quickened. Was she asking him on a date? Or was it simply a mission of mercy? Making sure he had a hot meal? Whichever, she’d cared enough about him to visit and invite him to church. Maybe she was receptive to him being more than friends.
“Sounds great,” he replied. “But I’d rather take you to dinner afterwards. What’s your favorite food?”
“Oh, I couldn’t do that to you.” She wiped her hands on her jeans. “Living out on the streets is hard enough.”
“Kelly.” He took her hand and pressed it. “What’s hard is not having a friend. Someone to talk to.”
“I know, Mr. Manning. But I’d like to limit our interaction to the church. I don’t really know you, and I have a daughter to protect. I’m already taking a chance to come see you, but I wanted to help.”
Shot down. She saw him as a charity case, a chance to do good and ease her conscience on having been rude to him—a troubled homeless war veteran in need of Christ and a hot meal.
Tyler dropped Kelly’s hand. “I’m doing fine without you, ma’am. I’m glad I helped Bree, and honestly, I’m not interested in being her father or stalking you or getting a handout from your church. Whatever you think you need me to forgive is forgiven. Whiteboard’s clean.”
6
~ Kelly ~
“Tyler Manning asked you on a date and you turned him down?” My younger sister, Ella, creases the wrapping paper while I tape the ends. “Unbelievable.”
“He wanted to feed me. I wouldn’t call that a date.” I scan the tables of volunteers in case he decided to show up. Not that he even knows where our church is, since I didn’t bother to leave him a printed tract with directions.
“But Mom says he asked you to dinner.”
I don’t know why I blab so much to Mom. Well, I was thrilled, even though I turned him down. Tyler Manning’s a prime catch no matter what, but I have Bree to think about. Dating Tyler would get her hopes up, what with her obsession on finding a father.
I tape a bow to the wrapped toy and pick up a boxed game. “He only asked because he has too much pride. I told him we have a hot meal for the volunteers, and he took it wrong.”
Ella flicks her fingers through her spiky blond hair and elbows her boyfriend Jaden. “You believe her? She’s so independent, doesn’t need a man. She does everything herself. She can’t even let a guy pay for her dinner.”
“You blew it, Kelly,” Jaden says. “It would have been so cool to have Tyler Manning here wrapping gifts. Think of the publicity, the camera crews, and the money we could raise for the women and children’s shelter.”
“That’s the problem.” I thump the game on the table and unroll a sheet of wrapping paper. “No one cares how Tyler really feels. Everyone wants a story, a publicity stunt, a piece of him. You should have seen the stories they wrote about his nervous breakdown.”
Ever since news got out that I visited Tyler at the Veteran’s Hospital, reporters have been hounding me, asking whether I would allow Mr. Manning to play at being Bree’s father, whether he had any plans on getting back to football, whether the charity he supports would take him on as a spokesman.
“I understand.” Ella shoots Jaden a pointed look. “The man suffers from post traumatic stress. He doesn’t need all this publicity. Must be sad when you think how awesome he used to be, a football star, and everything he gave up for that stupid war.”
“From hero to big fat zero.” A deep voice drawls behind us.
“Tyler!” I gulp, almost choking. “You came. How’d you find us?”
He tips his Giants baseball cap. “I’m a stalker, remember?”
That grin of his trips my heartbeat, and I wish I could throw my arms around him. Meanwhile, my stomach cringes, and I wonder how much he heard.
Jaden and Ella must be worried too because they’re suddenly busy curling ribbons and darting nervous glances at Tyler.
I take his elbow and turn him toward them. “Tyler, this is my sister Ella and Jaden, her boyfriend.”
Ella reaches out to shake his hand. “I heard you’re Bree’s hero. Thanks for finding her.”
Jaden bumps fists with Tyler. “I saw you play for Stanford.”
Tyler points both index fingers at him. “You must have been what, five years old?”
“Ten. My sister had such a crush on you. Did you know her? Melisa Sloup? Class of 2004?”
“Melisa, Melisa, of course.” Tyler laughs, his face visibly relaxing, and he winks. “I might have had a crush on her too.”
For a moment there, he looks like the golden boy again. The curly tips of blond hair gleam under his baseball cap, and laugh lines crinkle around his eyes. My jealous heart thuds at his fond remembrance of Jaden’s sister. How many women must he have had? Star athlete, handsome as Hollywood, and charming. Way out of my league. I’d been the queen of nerds, nose in a book, weekends and evenings spent with financial formulas and spreadsheets instead of parties and boys.
The rest of the volunteers gather around, recognizing Tyler’s celebrity. My mother’s missing all this, since she’s home with Bree. I can’t believe people are having their pictures taken with him. Single women swarm him, welcoming him to our church. They’re sizing him up, ticking off pluses and minuses, wondering if he’s a Christian, whether he’ll find a job or lead a youth group.
“Ella, get over here. We’re not going to have the presents wrapped before the ladies bring in dinner.” I yank my sister’s sleeve to remove her from the gawking females. Not that Jaden seems to mind. He’s busy snapping pictures.
“What about them?” Ella gestures to the giggling, squealing women. “You have first dibs on him. Why aren’t you staking your claim?”
“He’s a homeless vet, and he has issues. T
hey’re wasting their time.” I huff and cut through a swath of wrapping paper.
“Ah, but each of them thinks they can fix him better than the other, and I’d say he’s worth it. They don’t make them more manly than Tyler Manning.”
~ Tyler ~
The presents were wrapped, and the buffet table was piled high with casseroles, noodle dishes, Filipino egg rolls or lumpia, and even a whole roast suckling pig, or as the excited women called it, lechón.
Tyler was surprised at the diversity of Pacific Baptist Church. It seemed in the ten years since he’d been gone that the Bay Area had become truly international. Beautiful women from the Philippines, Ecuador, Puerto Rico, Haiti, and Costa Rica swarmed around him, each offering up dishes from their home country.
He’d never had Filipino spaghetti before, sweet with sliced hotdogs. The woman who made it, Francine, even put pepperoni in hers and laced it with cheddar cheese.
Meanwhile, Davina from Puerto Rico wanted him to try the pasteles, a tamale made of plantains with meats and spices wrapped in parchment paper.
He was plied with tres leches, a sponge cake soaked with three types of milk, sweet potato pudding pie, peppermint bark, and hot cider eggnog.
A missionary gave a presentation on Christmas in the Solomon Islands, and one of his daughters showed Tyler her pet bird, a bright green Solomon Island eclectus parrot who said, “Believe.”
Tyler hadn’t felt as carefree and alive for a long time, but the lights were too bright and the women’s voices too high-pitched. His senses were on full alert, and he startled when someone dropped a stack of plates, his hand automatically going to where the pistol grip of his M4 would be. He breathed in slowly through his nose, inhaling the fragrant scents, the aromas of the food, the smell of gunpowder. No. Not gunpowder. Wax candles and paraffin warming trays.
The hubbub of voices around him pounded in his ear, although softer than the booming of mortar shells. He looked for Kelly, but she had disappeared into the kitchen.
She’d avoided him all evening, sat at a table far from him after manning the buffet line, carving and serving the suckling pig. Throughout dinner, she’d kept her gaze averted from him and hustled around serving dessert, cleaning messes, and pouring coffee and tea. If her purpose for inviting him was to give him a square meal, she’d succeeded.
“Have another slice of pie?” a pretty Asian lady said.
Tyler rubbed his belly and shook his head. “I’m going to explode.”
“Will you come back for the Christmas pageant next week? How about Wednesday evening? We have choir practice and we’ll go caroling at Union Square the entire week before Christmas.”
“Sounds interesting, thanks.” Tyler gave her a smile and checked his watch. The weather had turned cold and drizzly, and he wasn’t looking forward to his spot under a highway bridge. If he wanted a bed at the shelter, he’d better get going.
“Papa!” Bree skipped toward him, her arms stretched wide. “Santa told me you’re an elf. A big elf, like that green one on TV.”
Her grandmother clapped a hand over the child’s mouth. “You can’t go around calling him ‘Papa.’”
Tyler laughed and patted Bree on the head. “How about you call me Ty? That’s my big elf name.”
“Like tying my shoes?” Bree lisped. “I know how to tie my own shoes.”
“Wow, you have to show me,” Tyler said.
Bree plopped herself on the floor and untied her tennis shoes. “They show me at pwee-school. I’m a big girl.”
She looped the knot around her finger and retied her shoes.
Tyler clapped. “Now, you remember my name, Ty, just like your shoes.”
“Yay! But I wish you my papa.” Bree’s thumb went into her mouth.
Out of the side of his eye, Tyler saw the group of single women whispering and pointing to Bree. Oh well, he didn’t mind her messing up his reputation. He wasn’t in any position to date or flirt with any of them. No woman really understood what he wanted from life. To them, it was all about snagging a husband with a stable paycheck and making him fit into the mortgage, child-rearing, college tuition paying schedule.
“Where’s your mother?” Tyler asked Bree.
Kelly’s mother scanned the room. “Kelly’s around here somewhere. Probably in the kitchen cleaning up. Why don’t I find her for you?”
“No, don’t bother on my account.” Tyler stood and stretched. “I have to line up at the shelter if I want a bed. Looks like a storm coming in.”
“Oh my. You’re right,” Kelly’s mother said. “It’s going to be howling out there. Windy and raining. You must stay with me. I have an extra bedroom.”
“Thanks, ma’am, but I can’t.” Tyler pulled his raincoat from the folding chair. “It wouldn’t be right.”
“Call me Peggy, and I won’t take no for an answer.”
“Please, please?” Bree said, her hands clasped in a praying position. “God says to be nice for Christmas. You can stay and play with me.”
“Uh, I’m not sure your mother would like that.” Tyler backed toward the door. “I better get going. The meal was delicious, and I’m stuffed.”
“Tyler Manning.” Kelly’s mother, Peggy, put her hands on her hips. “I have a light bulb I need changing, and it’s too high for me to reach. I also have to change the batteries for my smoke detectors. Think you can give me a hand?”
“I can do that for you tomorrow.” He tipped his baseball cap at her. “But, I must be going. Thanks.”
“Then you’ll stay for dinner tomorrow evening. Promise me,” Peggy said. “I’ll have a nice roast in the oven, sweet potatoes on the side, and green bean casserole.”
“Cookies, too.” Bree clapped her hands. “I lick the fwosting and spwinkles.”
He glanced around for Kelly, but she was nowhere in sight.
Peggy had a right to make friends whether Kelly approved or not. Besides, he wasn’t done with Kelly, not by a long shot. If she thought she could brush him off as a charity case, she was mistaken. Behind that self-reliant exterior was a woman, a strong one, but one who had needs. And judging by her incessant blushing, she probably hadn’t had a man since the night she conceived Bree.
Reaching over to shake Peggy’s hand, Tyler straightened his back and stood to his full height. “Looking forward to it, ma’am, er, Peggy. Make a list of everything you need done, and I’ll see you tomorrow.”
7
~ Kelly ~
“I can’t believe you invited Tyler to your apartment.” I close my eyes and shake my head at my mother, my hand over my forehead. “How do you know he’s not dangerous? What were you thinking offering him the room where Bree stays?”
“It was close to freezing last night, and with the wind and rain, I didn’t want him to catch a cold.” Mom draws the curtains back. “Look out there.”
It’s morning, but the storm hasn’t relented. Tree branches dance in the howling wind, and rainwater sloshes against the windows. No one should have been outdoors last night.
My chest hollows and my stomach contracts. “Do you think Tyler got a bed? The shelters are overcrowded and turn away able-bodied men.”
“Then I should have insisted.” Mom purses her lips and huffs. “The man is too polite and scared of you. I can tell. He looked around for you when I asked him to come over.”
“Me? He’s the one surrounded by all the single women at the church.”
“Can we admit you’re officially jealous?” Mom chuckles. “I saw you glaring at the women talking to him.”
“I was only pissed they weren’t doing any of the work. I could care less if they flirt with him.” I pour cereal for Bree. “When’s he coming over? I don’t want you and Bree to be alone with him.”
The bell rings. Speak of the devil. I march to the door and peek through the peephole. Sure enough, it’s Tyler.
I open the door. His eyes seem to light up when he spots me, and a grin brightens his face. He’s carrying a two-level toolbox.
“Thanks for inviting me to your church.” He shakes the water from his raincoat.
“Did you get enough to eat?”
“Gosh, that was the best meal I had in a long time.” He rubs his stomach. Well, in his case, it’s likely to be a six-pack slab of muscle. “I owe you dinner.”
“You don’t give up, do you?” Something sinful tingles low in my gut. It can’t be his sparkling god-like looks or the whiff of sporty cologne over his well-muscled chest. It has to be indigestion or something I ate last night. “Well, come in. My mother’s expecting you.”
“Mannings don’t give up.” He steps into the apartment. “When are you free?”
“I have work today, and my mother already invited you to dinner, so I’ll see you this evening.” I back into the kitchen and kiss Bree on the top of her head.
Today, I’m going to do the year-end books for her preschool. Since they’re closed for the holidays, I’ll have time to work with the owner on last minute deductions and expenses in preparation for tax season.
Tyler sets his toolbox on the floor and greets my mother with a kiss on the cheek. Since when have they gotten so close? I swear this is a conspiracy.
Bree jumps from her chair and reaches for a hug, and when he picks her up, swinging her around, I gulp as my heart contracts. Her blond hair and blue eyes make her look more like his daughter than mine.
I grab my briefcase. I don’t think I can stomach the three of them, looking like they’re in for a day of family fun while I have to go to work.
“Bye, Mom, Bree,” I yell as I exit the apartment.
“Bye,” they reply, but half-heartedly, their attention focused on Tyler’s jokes.
I turn the corner where the mailboxes are set. Footsteps sound behind me.
“Kelly.”
It’s Tyler. He jogs up to me. “If you’re worried about me being around Bree without you, I’ll come back another day. I saw your expression when you were leaving, and I don’t want to cause you any pain.”
A Father for Christmas: A Veteran’s Christmas, #1 Page 4